


Unmarked Trails

by rochelda



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bisexual Muriel, Breast Cancer Survivor Nadia, But I know Nadia will rule the world, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Food, Happy Ending, Lucio is dead, Northern Michigan setting, Or Is he?, Park Ranger Muriel, Portia saved up money and retired early, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Service Animals, Winter, i don't know if this will be short or long, i don't know if this will be smut or slow-burn, no depiction of abuse but possible mentions of it in the past for Muriel and Asra, on the plus side
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 23:40:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17375390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rochelda/pseuds/rochelda
Summary: Nadia Satrinava is a breast cancer survivor and a recent widow dealing with an onslaught of headaches after another illness. She decides to get away from the city and relax with her friend Portia, who raises award-winning produce near Lake Michigan. She certainly isn't looking for love, not with the scars she bears from a terrible marriage to a politician downstate.Muriel is content enough living in the isolation of nature, managing parklands, and occasionally socializing with his ex-crush and best friend Asra. But ever since Muriel confessed to Asra a year ago, things haven't been the same. Muriel just wants their friendship to go back to the way it was, and then, he thinks, life would be just fine.What begins with an embarrassing accident as Nadia falls out of a park outhouse onto Muriel leads the two to discover that they have friends in common. In time, Nadia and Muriel realize that perhaps they don't prefer solitude as much as they thought.





	Unmarked Trails

“Morning, sleepyhead.”

Nadia winced.

Portia lowered her voice. “Another one?”

“Yes.”

“Coffee or no?”

“Coffee.”

“You got it. And if you run out, I have Advil in this cupboard.”

“You keep it with the tea?”

Portia rolled her eyes. “Julian and I both had the flu once at the same time. He was on the toilet so long I just drove out to get more medicine rather than wait to get in the bathroom for what we had in the cabinet there. Plus, tea is essentially medicine, isn’t it?”

Nadia grinned and poured her coffee. A croissant sandwiched the pain killers in her stomach. “Did you eat breakfast already? It smells good in here.”

“Yup. I made enough for you to have some, too. Frittata and roasted veggies are in the fridge-- just pop them in the toaster oven when you want.” She put on a thick coat, gloves, and knit and said, “Let’s hope the bunnies haven’t attacked my beets again.”

“Let’s hope.”

With Portia in the garden, Nadia relaxed. The first day in someone else’s home was always a little awkward, she found. Nadia had first met Portia in a professional context, and while Portia had seemed to acclimate to their friendship just fine, Nadia had a hard time doing the same, especially as a guest in her home.

After a proper breakfast, she curled under a blanket on the couch with her laptop on her knee and Pepi the cat warming her feet. She spent the morning watching videos for her LEAD class, taking notes, and typing a response paper.

When Portia came back in a few hours later, stomping off snow on the porch before slushing them onto the boot mat, Nadia’s stomach rumbled. It was certainly lunchtime.

Portia laughed. “Well, are we eating out or in?”

Nadia smiled, stood, and folded up the blanket. Pepi groaned. “Out. I’d like to treat you.”

“Nadi, you don’t have to-”

“Please. It would really make me so happy to treat you. I’ve been looking forward to this visit since we planned it, and a meal of your choice is how I’d like to show it.”

Portia pressed her lips together and glared, then smiled with a wink. She surprised Nadia with a hug.

“Lovely Nadia. Okay. Well, snack up. Our destination is a bit of a drive, but something tells me you don’t want to eat at _Grub and Go_.”

Nadia gaped. “That sounds horrendous.”

“Well, it’s either that or Janine’s Diner . Janine’s is okay, actually, but it’s essentially a Wafflehouse.”

“Oh.”

“This town doesn’t have much, Nadia. Sorry.”

“No, no-”

“Buuuut-- and this is why we’re snacking up now-- hand me the bread, would you? Half hour down the road there’s Blue Smoke. _So_ good.”

Nadia complied. “Is a snack really necessary? I think I can wait thirty-”

“ _It’s good_ means _it’s busy_.” Portia began spreading peanut butter on the bread. “We won’t eat for forty minutes or so after we get there. Add that to the drive and we’ve got another hour or so before food hits. Hunger is bad for your headaches, too, right?"

“Yes. Excellent thinking, as always, Portia.”

“You want jam or honey on your sandwich?”

“Honey, thank you, and cinnamon if you have it.”

At the restaurant, they laughed and caught up. Nadia’s flight had arrived late the night before, and she’d still had to drive from Traverse City to Portia’s home near a spec of a town called Phillips. By the time she arrived at Portia’s, they were both just ready for sleep. This was the first time they’d had in a few months to really talk.

Blue Smoke was an upscale BBQ restaurant with firehouse decor overlooking Lake Charlevoix. And Portia was right: the food was positively decadent. Even Lucio would have enjoyed it, Nadia reflected, and he was a Class A snob. The conversation turned to him, as if he were a ghost on her shoulder, hoarding the conversation just as he did in life.

“So, everything passed to you? Must be a lot.”

Nadia nodded and sipped her Shiraz. “I’m surprised he didn’t spend it all.”

“Maybe when you got sick he… I don’t know. Held back a bit.”

Nadia snorted. “Oh, he still threw parties, Portia. And traveled all over. He just grew more petulant that I wouldn’t go with him.”

Portia looked angry. “God, I’m so sorry that your husband was ever like that. You deserve better. Any… prospects towards that end? Or, shoot, is it too soon to ask that?”

“No. And no. I’d prefer it the way it is, I think. No prospects. I’m not ready to handle some flake’s ridiculous notions of what makes a woman beautiful or not.”

“Nadia, you _are_ beautiful. Just because-”

“Cancer lopped off my breasts and left vicious scars behind… what? Doesn’t mean someone won’t run the opposite direction?”

Portia bit her lip and didn’t respond. The waitress came by and offered more wine.

“Please,” Nadia said. She took a deep breath and a long sip. “I’m sorry, Portia. I’m just…”

“Not as optimistic as I am for your romantic future.”

“For now, yes. I’m just not ready to allow that sort of vulnerability after a year and a half of … cancer, Lucio’s response to the sickness, then my encephalitis, _and_ Lucio’s death. It’s just… it’s been… It isn’t that I’m still attached to him or feel like I’d be a bad widow. I just, after all of that… I want to know who I am again. Who is Nadia right now, having lived through that hell?”

“That makes sense. My two cents? Nadia is an MBA student who will change the world for the better. My day’s already better, and all we’ve done is have lunch.”

They laughed together again and spoke of other things. Nadia’s classes. Portia’s beets. Recommended trails for Nadia to run and places they would see later in the week. It was a short vacation for Nadia to visit Portia--just a week and a half. Nadia’s classes were all online, and there wasn’t anything serious needing her attention down in Ann Arbor, not until the realtor had some news. But she didn’t want to overstay her welcome, either.

When they got home, Portia showed off the maze that was her garden. A light dusting of snow, with more flakes falling down around them, made it difficult to tell the cabbages from the kale, the allium from the chives. Portia didn’t label things and when her phone rang, Nadia lost her plant guide and wandered the aisles between raised beds freely, wondering what each white-capped bush or sprig was.

_Nature is restorative_ , she thought with a smile. She looked up and stuck her tongue out, letting some snowflakes melt in her mouth. _And tomorrow, I’m going for a trail run._

* * *

Muriel drove his truck slowly in a second loop around Lake Shore Drive. In the passenger seat, Inanna looked out the window with mild intrigue.

He drove past the north entrance again. Unlike other DNR Rangers, he avoided the campgrounds, even though most citations written by rangers were due to campground violations. Citations equaled money.

But Muriel didn't care, and he knew there might be a car full of hungover, winter-break teenagers (or adults) misbehaving in the campground. There would always be shitty cars full of some folk or another in the campground. He preferred to save the confrontations until the end of a State Park patrol. Tomorrow afternoon would do just fine for that.

He didn’t stop looping a third time until he’d reached his favorite spot and parked the truck. Then Muriel opened his thermos and took a deep drink of tea. He watched the lake. If he were outside, his breath would turn into fog from his lips. Dragon-breath, Portia called it.

Northern Michigan mornings were cold year-round. The days used to stay pretty cold, too. Now, though, it was late December with only an inch of snow on the ground. Permafrost wasn’t even a problem for gardeners, according to Portia. Global warming, he agreed. Made the weather do all kinds of funny things.

But he liked it better up here than downstate, and not just because a change of scenery kept bad memories further from his mind. Muriel didn’t know when things would be normal with Asra again, and he was too scared to push given it was his fault their friendship was weird now.

Christmas was coming up. Not that he or Asra had ever really enjoyed it. Shitty childhoods meant times like Christmas were a reminder of the worst in life, and, besides, Asra's real family wasn't Christian. Now, though, the calendar was a reminder that it had been a year since Asra had told him no, he’d only over seen Muriel as a friend.

Inanna licked his hand, dragging him out of those thoughts.

Muriel thought about things he liked. He liked the cold. Liked patrolling the parks, even when factoring in the campgrounds and maintenance duties. He enjoyed exploring with Inanna. And, mostly, he felt less alone than he ever did in a city where instead he’d be surrounded by strangers and fake smiles. With nature, at least, he knew where he stood.

Muriel checked his phone. Portia had sent him a photo of loose soil she’d extracted from her spring planting beds. In the photo, her expression was dramatically shocked as she pointed at a hole in the ground. He didn’t respond to her. If he did, she would just send more photos. Probably of her cat. As if he’d forgotten what Pepi looked like after the first five hundred photos.

Muriel ate his egg sandwich, then drove further down the park to the nearest outhouse. Usually they were disgusting, but today was a cold day and the cold would kill the smell. From the bed of his truck, he grabbed cleaning supplies. He opened the passenger door, and Inanna bound out onto the gravel, sniffing everything while he donned work gloves.

His left hand carried cleaning supplies, his right carried a bag of toilet paper rolls, but he did this every morning and could open the door with his index finger and thumb just fine.

Muriel reached for the outhouse door. But it opened outwards, and Muriel collided with the occupant on their way down the step. She. It was a she, and she screamed, right into his ear as she fell onto him. Inanna, meanwhile, was trying to duck between their legs, trying to give him space from this stranger.

Muriel lost his balance and slammed back onto the gravel. The cleaning supplies crashed around them, and the woman landed with half her weight onto him. She wasn’t heavy, though, and she’d braced the other half of her weight onto the gravel to his right.

This wasn’t the sort of situation where it was appropriate for _him_ to try and extract himself first, so he waited for her to recover. Muriel’s own body was stiff as he evaluated his well-being. Gravel wasn’t cement. He’d tossed the cleaning supply tote at the last second and his freed hand helped him counter enough of the fall not to hurt his head. His knees were fine. No twisted ankles. Inanna was nudging and licking his free hand.

Ok. He was just surprised. He was fine.

The woman stirred, and he could see her face now, eyes and mouth wide in horror.

“I am… Sorry. So… Sorry.”

Just as he took in her features, she was scrambling to get off of him, to stand up.

She was tall for a woman, or maybe just had perfect posture. Brown skin with purple hair tucked up under a pristine white hat, which she adjusted. Her lips and nose were hidden behind a cowl. Yet, unlike most in Northern Michigan, she wasn’t bulky in trying to stay warm. She was svelte, all high-tech running gear. Running shoes. She’d been _jogging?_

“There’s a rip,” he said. He pointed at her wrist. Her gloves weren’t built for this far north. They didn’t wrap down her forearm, and as such, the gravel had ripped the thin fabric of her running jacket sleeve down in a mess that was just starting to bleed.

He left the cleaning supplies where they were on the ground and went over to the truck. Inanna sprinted around to sniff him and nudge his hand with her nose. Muriel patted her head and muttered, "I'm Ok. Ok."

With the tailgate down, he pulled off his cleaning gloves and dragged the first aid kit out.

“I can do it myself, thank you,” the woman said. She rummaged around in the kit for bandages.

Typical. Why was he even trained in first aid if no one who could be helped by it would _let_ him help?

To be fair, this was the first time he’d opened the kit for anyone but himself in three years. The more remote parks suited him best, and they didn’t get as many tourists needing assistance like this.

After a minute, the woman cleared her throat and turned to him. Her eyes were such a unique shade of brown. Almost red with how vibrant they were. He almost missed what she said: “I’m embarrassed to say that I may have overestimated my abilities.” She held her wrist out to him. Half of the bandage tape flapped in the breeze.

_What, you mean you don’t have a third hand somewhere that can wrap that for you?_ he thought but didn’t say. The cut was longer, deeper than it had seemed at first glance. Still no emergency, but he noticed that she hadn’t even put Neosporin on the gauze, and the gauze was too short to cover it all. Muriel mended both, then pulled her sleeve back over her wrist. The black fabric lumped over the bandage, holes showing the gauze beneath.

Inanna whined and stood so her shoulder pressed against his leg. He looked down at her and took a deep breath. Muriel was determinedly not going to think about injuries and tragedies.

“You’ll want longer gloves if you’re staying in these parts,” he said and latched the first aid kit.

“Thank you for your help, and that advice. But actually, I’m just here visiting my friend Portia and-”

Muriel shut the tailgate and frowned, looking her up and down. “You know Portia?”

The woman’s eyes went wide. “Wait, _you_ know Portia?”

“Devorak?” They both said at the same time, then chuckled. Well, she chuckled; he just exhaled and looked out at the lake. When he looked back, she had pulled down her cowl and was smiling with the non-bandaged hand held out. “I’m Nadia Satrinava. Nice to meet you.”

He shook her hand. Her grasp was strong. “Muriel.” He jerked his chin towards where Inanna was patiently waiting and watching. “This is Inanna.” At her name, her ears flicked forward.

He opened the passenger door, Inanna hopped in, and he closed it behind her. As he bent to pick up the cleaning tote, he decided he’d take care of the outhouse later. Nadia reached down to help him gather items and put them into the mesh net in the side of the truckbed.

When they finished, Nadia was grinning. She pointed at a nearby sign, which read, _Dogs must be on a leash at all times!_

“Who knew DNR rangers were above their own park laws?”

He looked to the side, embarrassed, though Asra and Portia (and even Julian, not that he mattered) had said so many times he had no need to be. “She’s my service animal.”

Nadia’s eyebrows peaked, but she didn’t say anything else. She probably didn’t believe him. Figures. He cleared his throat. “Do you want a ride back to your car? Or you planning on running there?”

Her expression grew grim. “My run was not successful. I’ll try another day, but yes, if Inanna would make room, I would love a ride.”

Muriel went around to the driver’s side, saying, “You get the truck bed.”

He hopped into the driver’s seat and turned the keys in the ignition. Through the passenger window, he watched as she pulled the cowl up to her nose. Then he finally opened the passenger door from inside.

“It was a joke,” he said.

Nadia’s eyes narrowed. “A most cruel joke.”

Inanna huffed as Nadia scooted her over. Muriel told Inanna it was ok and watched Nadia as she buckled her seat belt. “Which way to your car?”

“That way,” she said. He shifted out of park and followed her direction.

**Author's Note:**

> You probably have questions. Yeah. So do I. What was I thinking with this one? I don't know.
> 
> A note about encephalitis: I know. The canon explanation for Nadia's headaches is allergies. But in real life I've had encephalitis and thought I'd write a little from my experience, since it manifests the same. Which is, statistically, strange, since for most survivors of encephalitis, the common long-term side effects are actually really intense: brain damage, nerve damage, etc., aphasia, etc.
> 
> Anyway. Before encephalitis, I didn't really get headaches that often, and I never had migraines. After encephalitis... dude, some weeks it's like every day there's a headache. And it's compounded with allergies, certainly. Hey, I'm lucky, but it's a rare experience, for sure, and I want to write about it a tad in this fic.
> 
> So just let me have this one, yeah? I hope you enjoy the story! More to come.


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